


Ember

by immistermercury



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arkham Asylum, Dancing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post Fight, it's really corrupt, the joker is nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 00:23:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14461056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immistermercury/pseuds/immistermercury
Summary: Her laughter echoed around the room, sounding wrong. She lay under white sheets, in a white room, skin and hair bleached white. Her laughter was a cruel mimic of her lover, a sound she was so desperate to hear, one that she’d never hear again. The only disruption to the colour scheme was the scarlet slowly staining the bedsheets, just another mark to her of the guards who so lovingly visited her room whenever they wanted a favour. She laughed until she cried, purple fingers twisted in white fabric, as if a blanket could offer the protection that she needed for armies of corruption.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda messed up (poor Harley) but hopefully not too graphic. Harley & co are not mine, they are suicide squad aesthetic (but not actually linked to the plot in any way). Non-canon way of presenting the Joker (i.e. he's a bit of a softy).

Her laughter echoed around the room, sounding wrong. She lay under white sheets, in a white room, skin and hair bleached white. Her laughter was a cruel mimic of her lover, a sound she was so desperate to hear, one that she’d never hear again. The only disruption to the colour scheme was the scarlet slowly staining the bedsheets, just another mark to her of the guards who so lovingly visited her room whenever they wanted a favour. She laughed until she cried, purple fingers twisted in white fabric, as if a blanket could offer the protection that she needed for armies of corruption.

Harley Quinn was in Arkham Asylum, and the Joker was dead.

Her stomach ached from laughter, her jaw from biting, her eyes from the tears forced out on an all too regular basis.

Villains didn’t grieve, she reminded herself. Grieving was weak and pathetic, slowed the mental processes, caused lethargy, stopped you from functioning. You didn’t grieve, you got angry. You got back.

She pulled the white sheets over her head as she screamed with laughter, the only way to express the tearing inside her, blood flowing faster as she tore at herself, still laughing. She wanted to clean herself, to get out, to reinvent herself, to move far far away from everywhere that she’d ever been.

Harley Quinn was in Arkham Asylum, and the Joker wasn’t going to save her this time.

The doctor that entered the room didn’t rush to treat her as she would someone else, instead standing and gawking at the sight of a usually composed woman gone insane. At the sight of sheets stained scarlet with her blood, the sound of wailing laughter, the ankle cuff bitten into bruised and burned skin. 

The young woman edged closer to the bed, resting a gentle hand on Harley’s shoulder. She wasn’t there to stare, she reminded herself, helping the girl sit up. The villain had tears on her cheeks, blood on her mouth, hands, abdomen and lower, a look of pure agony in her eyes. Her laughter got stuck in her throat as a cloth gently wiped at her face, the room suddenly too silent for Harley to handle. She started talking, her words running into each other, no sentences or plot to her story, but instead just words to fill the silence. Silence meant that she thought, she thought of what she had lost, she thought of the future, she thought about the guards, about what they did, about how she would never escape.

A lover’s tiff, a quick explosive was never supposed to end up killing him.

Harley Quinn was in Arkham Asylum, and she had killed the Joker.

Her heart was twisted in her fist until she choked, until she screamed, the noise sounding distant and far away but ripping up her throat until it felt as sore as every other part of her body. She wanted to hurt, wanted to hurt herself, wanted to take it all back and coddle him like she used to, buff his ego back up after a fight, promise her daddy that his Harley wasn’t really angry, just a little annoyed, but she was sure she could forgive him. She wanted flowers and chocolates as apologies, pretending she was angry when he came for affection, playing the little game to see how long it would be before she cracked and wrapped her little arms around him, letting him relax.

Nobody seemed to see that the easiest way to relax him was to treat him like a human.

The doctor sedated her, took the colour from her cheeks, making her appear like yet another white dot in a sterile landscape.

She woke up in another room.

***

She woke up clean. She woke up with her hair washed, her body washed, her wounds cleaned, one hand bandaged. She woke up with the telltale ache of a contraceptive shot in her left arm. She woke up in a white bed, white walls, white sheets, white hair and white skin, but she noticed something. 

The photo that she left in her pocket all the time was stuck on the wall by her bed. 

The Joker grinning with her pups, an early birthday present when he’d gotten her out of Arkham before. She was convinced that she’d spend that birthday alone, but he got her the day before, giving her the pups as soon as they got home. They were hard to keep a secret when they barked so damn loud, he’d said, but he was grinning the whole time.

Harley’s heart ached, but she didn’t scream, or laugh, or cry. She was tired, and she missed him. 

Harley Quinn was in Arkham Asylum, and the Joker didn’t deserve to die.

Sure, he was an asshole at the best of times, but she’d put an end to the smacking pretty damn quickly. Harley could play him at his own game, and she wasn’t afraid like the others were. Harley was fierce and feisty, he was clever and manipulative. He was the brain, and she was the muscle.

She enjoyed their dynamic.

He valued her as a woman. He valued her ability to go into any situation and within ten minutes have found an old best friend and another villian, and be chatting up the hottest guy in the room. Harley, despite her reputation, was friendly and trustable, qualities that he didn’t have, and he could use. He valued her ability to flirt, to manipulate men with a wiggle of the hips and a lick of the lips.

He made her feel useful and wanted.

She noticed two pills by the side of the bed. Without checking them, she swallowed them both, and went back to sleep.

***

She woke back up in her room. The sheets had been changed, the photo brought there, the whole room scented slightly with candyfloss.

Candyfloss.

The doctors knew her too well here.

They knew exactly what calmed her. Harley loved the fairground smells from her many adventures there with the Joker, nearly being killed on ghost trains and the Bat chasing them around fun-houses.

He always bought her candyfloss, in the big bags, pink and blue and white. They’d share candyfloss kisses, and he never quite washed the taste away. It was there when they made love, tainted by gasoline in heists, overly sweet and acidic all in one.

There was a button beside the bed, an emergency one. The guards had made sure to remove it so that she couldn’t call for help when they wanted her.

She made a note to tell Mr. Bruce Wayne to give her doctor a pay rise.

She lay back, she looked at the ceiling, she waited until the inevitable six o’clock bell for dinner. She finally stood then, her legs weak from her movement, and only afterwards realised her ankle cuff was gone. She leaned against the wall to stop her head from spinning and wrapped her arms around herself, slowly leaving her cell. She kept her head down, refusing to talk to the other prisoners, only looking up when she had to walk past the Joker’s room.

In Arkham Asylum, they both had cells specially kept for them.

Her heart ached and she suddenly turned away from the canteen, trying to find her doctor. She begged and begged to be let in, to keep the spare jacket that she knew was in there.

The doctor must either have never read their files, or had a blatant disregard from the rules. 

Harley wrapped herself in purple velvet, the warmth thawing her bones, the smell making her want to cry and laugh at the same time. She took herself to the dining hall, not even needing persuading to eat.

She couldn’t eat much, but it was the first time she’d voluntarily eaten this week.

They never understood that sometimes she just wasn’t hungry. Criminal masterminds didn’t have regular eating schedules. Sometimes they went for expensive dinners, and sometimes they were cheated out of every penny they had and didn’t eat for a week. Food was a luxury, not a necessity. Harley’s body didn’t like eating regularly, it liked good food when it could get it. Forcevite just made her throw up.


	2. Chapter 2

The Joker was fuming. He’d never been unfortunate enough to be locked up at the same time as Harley before, especially not with a broken leg, several broken ribs and a cracked skull. He knew that it wound her up when he went with other girls, but the explosive might have been overkill.

The Joker was in Arkham Asylum, and Harley Quinn was too.

He was furious that he was still locked away in the infirmary, too injured to even move by himself, let alone break them both out.

It was a miracle he was alive, apparently, after he’d been pronounced dead at the scene.

The Joker was sure that they had just wrongly done it to get rid of him.

He lay back amongst the white sheets, a ball of rage amongst the other patients listless in their beds. He knew that the asylum abused their patients, he’d been on the wrong end of it far too many times, but maybe he’d think twice before letting Harley stay here for a few weeks when she’d been annoying him and he wanted some peace.

They touched her, they hurt her, they made her bleed and had her pay them favours that she didn’t owe, and he was angry. He wanted to grab their throats, he wanted to twist them, bend them, break them and snap them and then set fire to the bodies. He wanted to hurt them before that, to cut off their tongues, gouge out their eyes, saw off each finger one by one and burn the skin that had touched what was his, what didn’t belong to them.

Her clothes were branded “Property of Arkham Asylum”, but her skin was tattooed otherwise, and they didn’t respect her.

It sickened him.

Harley Quinn was in Arkham Asylum, Harley Quinn was being abused, and he couldn’t stop it.

He was trying his best to do everything. He had bribed her new doctor into being an informant, to telling him everything that was happening. He’d paid for a new panic alarm, for her to be treated gently, for her to be cleaned and given the highest contraceptives. He’d given her the photo that he’d saved to give to Harley, given them the candyfloss pillow spray that she loved so dearly.

He was fuming with her, but he wasn’t heartless, and he wanted her safe while he couldn’t protect.

He didn’t know that she thought he was dead.

***

The Joker was still bedridden when things got worse. The ribs were slowly healing, but he wasn’t allowed up until then. The doctor came back to inform him of bad things: Harley wasn’t eating, Harley wasn’t sleeping, and worst of all, she was pregnant.

She was pregnant, in Arkham Asylum, and the guards hadn’t taken their filthy hands off her for more than a few days at any given time.

The Joker was so enraged that he couldn’t be listless any longer. He couldn’t leave it down to a new doctor with no power.

The doctor gave him a gun.

The Joker wrenched himself out of bed, shot the guard by his bed, and all those that blocked his way in the men’s ward.

By the time he reached the women’s, he was swept up with guards, taking him back down to the infirmary. The commotion was no more than the murder of a few guards who hadn’t been involved in anything.

He hated that he was so helpless, that he couldn’t run or kick. He wanted to howl with the pain in his ribs, but he just laughed, laughed so viciously that the corners of his mouth split and his mouth became bloody. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he laughed, laughed until he couldn’t breathe, until the noise became pained wheezing.

He was sedated.

***

The Joker was more aware of Harley than she was. She didn’t know the bad news.

She didn’t know she was pregnant, and especially not that her baby was going to be tested on.

As far as she was concerned, the pills she swallowed every few hours made her lose time, forget what happened, not asleep, but blacked out. It was like being drunk, but without the fun.

It kept the painted smile on her face.

It kept her curious, kept her happy, even if she couldn’t remember what she was happy for. She was happy in therapy, she was happy on the surgical table, she was happy with electrodes on her head, she was happy when she tore the throat of a guard out with her teeth.

Okay, maybe she really was happy about the last one, although the only memory she had was warm copper on her teeth.

Harley fell into the same traps over and over again, forgetting what happened last time to curiosity and fog.

***

It was all a set up, a well engineered plan. He wasn’t happy about the drugs, but he’d use them to his best advantage.

Harley loved circus music, and he’d use it. The guards used it to lure her to obscure parts of the prison so that they could use her. He’d do it to get her without raising suspicion.

It had been eight weeks. Fifty six days, seven hours, twenty-three minutes and four seconds. His leg was out of plaster, he’d faked taking the same drugs, his ribs were tender and the stitches on the back of his head were covered by long green hair.

He’d made an effort for this evening. He’d stolen a dress shirt from a guard and found his old suit that the Asylum had kept.

In the middle of the night, he sat in the communal gardens, and he played the circus music. It was a regular sound now, nobody paying it any attention.

Nobody except Harley.

Her eyes lit up from the sounds of the circus. She had a piece of paper in her pocket that she’d read eighteen times, but she couldn’t remember what it said. She grabbed his jacket from the door, curling up in purple velvet.

She got so distracted that she nearly forgot about the music.

It’s a good job that Arkham locks are so easy to pick, she giggled.

One hairpin got her out into the corridor, and she propped the door open ever so slightly. She had such a good record (apart from the guard incident) that her leaving her room at night wasn’t a cause of suspicion anymore.

Especially when there was circus music.

She crept down the corridor, following the music, barefoot in small pajamas and his big coat. Her bony figure looked almost skeleton-like in the moonlight from the big windows, a strange mixture between horror and romance.

He saw her first, a white spot in an otherwise dark garden. To him she looked like an angel, ethereal, and close enough to becoming one: sunken cheeks, hollow, glassy eyes, frail and shaking hands.

He stood up, opening his arms for her, and smiled to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Harley hadn’t spoken in weeks, her throat raw and abused. She looked around, eyes eager to find the source of the music, and saw a figure in an evening suit sat by a speaker.

She looked at him blankly, scanning who he was. He wasn’t one of the guards. He wasn’t one of her friends. Who was he?

His teeth glinted silver in the moonlight, and all the blood drained away from her face. Memories flashed through her head of silver teeth, silver teeth on her lips, on whiskey glasses, biting the end of expensive pistols, ripping her clothes. Those red lips on hers, that tongue licking the barrel of a gun after a good shot, lapping the blood from a blade. The green eyes, the green hair, the pale skin, the penguin suit.

He broke the silence before she could.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, sounding almost shy, childlike.

The young girl launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him as tight as she could muster. He held her closely, her chin on top of her head, one hand on the back of her head and the other on the small of her back. She couldn’t cry, but she could laugh, and he recognised the sound of her finding herself again: the laughter didn’t mimic his, didn’t sound frantic, or pained, but genuine, joy, happiness, overwhelming relief.

He joined in the laughter, laughing up to the moonlight.

Harley Quinn was in Arkham Asylum, and the Joker was too, and they were together.

He held her body close as they began to move together, the jester and his harlequin, each step well traced around any accommodation they had ever had. The moon showed the sharp cuts of the bone sticking through her skin, skin cold as ice, paper thin and fragile.

She looked broken, but she looked herself. She wasn’t a pawn of Arkham Asylum. She was Harley Quinn.

She clutched close to him as they moved together, the prince and princess of crime, each step as familiar as they contours of his body, the peaks and valleys. The moon showed the dark patches under his eyes, his skin warm and soft, skinnier than usual, less lean muscle.

He looked broken, but he had a grin on his face. He had her back. He was the Joker, and she was Harley Quinn. 

They waltzed to the music, moving together as they revelled in each other’s company, their voices growing in volume as more lights came on, more people took notice, more people saw the colour return to her face and the gleam return to his eyes. He wanted them to see, he wanted every guard to see him with her. He wanted everyone to see that he found a way, he outsmarted them, he would look after her even if they put obstacles in his way.

They wouldn’t send his Harley to the morgue without sending him there first.

Harley was giggling, bubblegum-sweet, tripping over her feet. She felt centred, she felt grounded, finally felt hungry and tired and remembered. She remembered what they’d put her through, what she’d endured, what she wanted revenge for.

As the rain began to fall, Harley pulled him into her room like a teenager, never once letting go of him as she curled up next to him.

For the first time in weeks, they slept.

***

The Joker hated Arkham Asylum, and he would burn it down.

However, he had two things to be thankful for.

The doctor that kept Harley up to date with contraceptives every time she was abused by the guards.

And the fact that the testing on her baby wasn’t enough to kill it.

***

He let her throw the match. He had worked tirelessly to soak every room possible with gasoline, to get her doctor out, to tie up the guards and wash their hair with it.

Harley Quinn threw the match that caused Arkham Asylum to go up in flames, with the Joker stood next to her, stroking her knuckles comfortingly.

They were never going back there, and it would never be rebuilt.

The Joker didn’t care if he had to kill Bruce Wayne to make sure of it.

The screams of the guards made her smile, the revenge of rude health glowing in her cheeks while they were sentenced to death.

If she wasn’t radiating happiness before, she was now.

***

The room was set. It was pastel pink (which the Joker hated, by the way, but he didn’t really think he could say no), the furniture was white, and it had a rocking chair by the window which looked over the still smouldering remains of the Asylum.

The smouldering filled Harley with peace, and the Joker with pride. Every prisoner escaped, every guard dead, and the building burned to the ground was one of his greatest heists.

Right now, though, he could only focus on the bump causing Harley’s shirt to strain. His daughter - his daughter, the tests had proved it - was coming to say hello soon, and he was jittery with excitement.

He had never pictured himself as a father, but after everything Harley had been through, he was going to gift her the one thing she’d ever wanted.

“Any idea of names?” He asked quietly, resting a hand where the baby was kicking.

“Ember.” She replied, looking out at the smouldering remains of the Asylum. The embers of the fire.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Remember to leave kudos/comment if you liked it, want a sequel or have any suggestions for fics!


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